


Read My Lips

by a_summer_mind



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: All-Knowing Balin, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Angst, Bilbo Baggins & Bofur Friendship, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mention of Death, Musical References, Oblivious Bilbo, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sassy Hobbits, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is smitten, because he's a dumb, but does he say so?, but thorin doesn't know that, ish?, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_summer_mind/pseuds/a_summer_mind
Summary: Bilbo Baggins of Dale, formerly of The Shire, has found a modicum of success as a singer and gardener. He's made a good, humble life for himself working where and when he can, either by song or by soil. But never had he dared to dream of singing in the palace of Erabor.That was, until Smaug.And though it was slain by the Prince Under the Mountain, Thorin son of Thrain, many souls were lost, including a number of palace staff.Now, on the behest of an old friend who just happened to be a wizard, Bilbo sets off on an adventure - one of a musical sort, and begins to flirt with said Prince through song. In other words, engaging in activities most unbecoming of respectable hobbits.





	1. Old Friends & New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I own no characters, only the idea. And even then, is anything under the sun new anymore?  
> Any songs from which lyrics are taken will be linked at the end of the chapter, with a masterlist to be made!

Bilbo let the delicate notes of the lyre lead him, with eyes closed and hands clasped behind his back. This was an easy show, one that gave him comfort to do - he had done it often enough. This street theater was not one that drew the most lively crowd, and that was exactly how the Hobbit preferred it. He wanted to take those who listened to him on a journey, an adventure of sorts, though this song was one of calm movement, like water. Plus, the smaller the crowd, the more confident he was that he could charm them. Too many prying eyes made him nervous.

He took a deep breath, was about to let out the first note, when it happened - winds like a hurricane, billowing in from the North, causing the wood of the stage to tremble. There were confused yells, murmurs, and suddenly there was fire.

Later Bilbo would say that it had been like the pine trees of the mountain had screamed in agony, the snaps so loud.

Later, he would recount the horror around him, men, women, Hobbits and Dwarves of all ages burning, a horrible smell lingering long after they were beyond recognition.

Later, he would cry for these strangers.

But now, in the blistering heat, all Bilbo Baggins could do was run.

Between archways and wagons he sprinted as fast as his feet could take him - which was fast indeed. It lasted anywhere between a lifetime and a minute, a flurry of dragon-shaped shadows and bone-melting fire, and then all that was left was the destruction. Bilbo watched from an alley corner, near the high-streets of Dale, as the gigantic red firedrake threw itself into the gates of Erebor. Its front talons scraped against the stone as it roared - the sound vibrated off of the Hobbits bones and he choked on his gasp as, with a blast of fire, the dragon burst into the palace.

Seeing nothing more than smoke in its wake, Bilbo closed his eyes and sunk down the wall he hid behind, feeling both small, numb, and so much more. He tried covering his ears to block out the roars, the screams, the sound of destruction.

If you asked Bilbo how it ended, he couldn’t tell you. He heard stories later, of the greed of dragons, of Smaug, and of the prince who not only rallied his troops, who tried and failed to save his grandfather the King. The prince who, with a great cry in the Dwarves native Khuzdul, pierced the Great Calamity’s belly, ending what could have been the downfall of his people.

All he would tell you, months after the attack, was that Prince Under The Mountain, Thorin, son of Thrain, Slayer of Smaug the Terrible, had saved them.

* * *

 

It took Bilbo months to bring himself to sing again. He sat in his room on the hill for a full day, not emerging even when his neighbors came to see if he had survived the desolation. The images of the mountain laden with smoke, dragon fire in the moonlight, trees like torches - all these things plagued his nightmares for many nights after, but eventually, like most things, the nightmares faded into blackness. He got on with it. Hobbits made do.

That period he wasn’t singing, much to the sadness of his usual venues, he focused on his gardening. He had great skill in produce that usually didn’t flourish in the city of Dale, things like berries and fruits - which he sold to the winemakers - and other vegetables such as tomatoes and pumpkins. A contrast to the usual greens and radishes, these above-ground growers did not usually find the region hospitable, much like hobbits.

But, much like this one particular hobbit, they dug their roots, and they persisted. With some tender care and a particularly talented green-thumb, Bilbo made a nice living off of his small market stall.

It was in this garden, on his knees tending strawberries, that he sang again.

 

> _Far over, the misty mountains cold_  
>  _To dungeons deep_  
>  _And caverns old_

Quietly, softly, his voice acted on its own accord. He almost slapped a hand over his mouth when he realized what he’d been doing. Blast it, he thought. He felt almost guilty, though he knew it didn’t make sense. It just felt… uncomfortable, to sing so soothingly when he had run like a coward just weeks before. Singing never helped anyone, he thought. And neither had he.

But he couldn’t stop himself. More and more his voice pushed through his lips against his will, and eventually his guilt became a numb sadness, which sat in the timbre of his voice forevermore. With that, at least, he knew he would never forget.

And only a few weeks later, with the same song being hummed in his throat, Bilbo had a visitor.

* * *

 

At first, he didn’t recognize the elder Man before him, in grey robes and a tall walking stick. He looked vaguely familiar, but Bilbo couldn’t place him. He almost hadn’t noticed the Man, if not for the pipe-smoke that had brought him out of his mid-morning humming.

Bilbo shuffled on his red garden bench, thinking of what to say to the tall being who was staring him down. He settled on a simple, “good morning.”

“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good morning… or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?”

How horribly confusing and unnecessary, Bilbo thought, before politely replying, “all of them at once, I suppose…”

The Man gave nothing more than a noncommittal grunt, and yet continued to study the Hobbit as though he were trying to solve some riddle.

After a time, Bilbo asked whether or not he could help the Man. “Are you a new vintner in the area? I was sure I knew all the buyers in Dale but if I’ve been remiss in introductions I am terribly sorry-”

“No, no, please. I am no common winemaker. I am looking for someone to share in… a sort of adventure.”

This confuses Bilbo greatly, and his mind racing with images of fire and dragons, and he stutters. “A-an _adventure_? No, no no I think not. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things -” he quickly got up from his bench, began to pick at his blueberry bushes “- make you late for dinner!” He was just about to walk up to his door when the Man’s incredulous voice stopped him.

“To think I should have lived to be left at the gate by Belladonna Took’s son like some common button-seller, oh if she could see you now!”

“Excuse me, how do you-”

“You’ve changed Bilbo Baggins, and I would hazard to guess not for the better!”

“I’m _sorry_ , do I know you?”

“Well, I should think you know my name, even if you don’t remember I belong to it,” the Man seemed to sadden a bit at that revelation.

“And that is…?”

“Gandalf! Gandalf meaning, well… meaning me!”

Bilbo thought a second, and remembered like a snap - or like a firework. “Not Gandalf the Wandering Wizard? The one who told such excellent stories, who… who…” Bilbo trailed off as he remembered the burial of his parents, specifically the tall, grey man who had flicked his wrists, covering the grave in mourning lilies and gladioli. The hobbit hummed, rather than speak the memory into existence.

They sat in a sad silence until Gandalf decided to break it. “Yes well, I’m warmed to find you remember something of me, even if it’s not the most pleasant of memories.” He looked Bilbo up and down once before he continued. “Yes, well, it’s decided. This will be very good for you, and very amusing for me. I shall inform the palace, be prepared to leave at dawn.”

“Inform where? What? Excuse me we do not-” he followed as the wizard turned to leave, “- we do not want any sort of adventure here, not from you or the palace not after-” Bilbo swallowed his next words.

“Perhaps,” Gandalf began softly. “Perhaps I should have been more clear. This is not a dangerous adventure, Master Baggins, but a musical one.”

Bilbo looked up confused. “Musical?”

“Yes, yes, not dangerous at all, unless of course the company of Dwarrow tends to frighten you,” Gandalf turned and smiled down at the poor Hobbit, all wide-eyes and well-placed curls. “No, my dear boy, you won’t be needing a sword but only your voice. You shall be the new singer of the Erborian Palace band.”


	2. Movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an audition, and an unspoken flirtation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this update. Personal life stuff, some good, some eh, existential crises, plus my ADD is working overtime and I've jumped between this fandom, Overwatch (mchanzo), Zelda (BOTW) and even It's Always Sunny In Philly. What can ya do.
> 
> I'll write more ASAP though, bc now I'm into it again! Yay!
> 
> Feel free to say hi and talk with me on tumblr, I'd love some company in my multi-fandom blues: https://a-summer-mammal.tumblr.com/

Bilbo wasn’t sure why he signed the contract Gandalf had left with him. It had simply been done. Perhaps it was the itching he had felt the last few months, the insistence in the back of his mind that he needed something  _ new _ , a distraction from horrible memories and the burnt streets that sometimes still smelled of flesh… those memories precisely. 

 

Or maybe it was simply because he was curious.

 

Either way it was done, and he loaded his home unto two royal carts. He only left a few trees and shrubs, to be tended by his favorite wine-connoisseur Bard, a distant relative of Dale’s leaders. Bilbo took some plants of his own of course, a strawberry bush and a rose, representing his time in Dale and his past in the flower-filled Shire. Now he moved to a new home.

 

And what a home it was! Grandiose and awe-inspiring, even though Bilbo had spent many a time watching it from his Dale window. That certainly did not compare to seeing it in person; great statues of Dwarrow men, the bustling warmth of work, of fire and forge. It stole the breath from Bilbo’s lungs, and he stopped walking to look around. So this was it, he thought, then took two deep breaths, closing his eyes. 

 

Bilbo moves slowly beside the grey wizard, who had been kind enough to escort him. Bilbo’s hands balled at his sides, he bit his lip anxiously. What was he doing? A simple Hobbit from Dale, here, in Erebor, about to audition not only in front of his possible musicians, but in addition the  _ King _ and the  _ Prince _ would be there. Of all the possible situations he could of gotten into - he would have preferred being eaten by trolls to this, truly. He scoffed at such an idea, and Gandalf looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

 

“And what, may I ask, is so amusing, my friend?”

 

“Oh, well… all of this?” Bilbo spread his arms wide, gesturing to the great hall around them, and then to himself. “And me! Me, here, about to sing for royalty… it’s a hilarious joke the world has played on me.”

 

Gandalf gave a small chuckle, “I only hope your humerous demeanor lasts through this... trial…”

 

With that they both looked ahead, following the two Dwarves that had met them at the gates. The first, Balin, was a dwarf shorter than most Bilbo had seen, with pure white hair and beard. He had been polite, cheerful, and all-around very likable in Bilbo’s opinion. His brother though, Dwalin, seemed the exact opposite upon first impression. Large in every sense of the word, he had an air of ruthlessness even if one ignored the axes strapped to his back.. Bald-headed with the exception of tattoos and well-muscled, he had done nothing but look Bilbo over and grunt. The Hobbit was, as he thought he should be, quite intimidated.

 

And there was only more intimidation to come, he decided. He walked into a large room that looked as though it would normally be used for dining and parties. Sat in a small group with instruments beside or on their laps were dwarves that Bilbo assumed made up the royal band. One sat with a harp beside, a small looking dwarf with a narrow face and worried eyes, and close beside him was a larger, older dwarf with intricately braided hair. On his lap sat a wooden flute. To the left’s one with an oddly elongated hat, almost as if the garment had ears of its own. This dwarf holds a lute, and to his right is the final member, with wild black and grey hair, a portative organ on his lap and what looked to be part of an axe in his skull. Bilbo gave a small bow to them all before turning towards the long table, where the King sat with a few other dwarves. Bilbo wasn’t sure their titles, but they were obviously of some importance to be sitting at the same table. What he did know, was they were all younger than the king. And quite handsome, Bilbo might think, if he were being particularly honest and particularly brave.

 

He cleared his throat more out of anxiety than necessity.

 

“King Thror,” Gandalf began, bowing deeply. “I present to you my chosen candidate for the courts  sänger khînh, one Bilbo Baggins of Dale.”

 

The taller man swept his arms to the hobbit beside him, who stammered embarrassingly before simply deciding to bow, so deeply and quickly he almost toppled right over. 

 

“Many thanks, Gandalf my friend,” the king sounds old and gruff, distracted really. Bilbo rises as he is addressed, the king continuing. “This is my son and heir to the throne, Prince Thrain.” The king gestures to his side, to the slightly younger looking dwarf.

 

Gandalf grumbles. “And where is the second Prince, if I may ask?”

 

“Hunting, or rounds. Probably both, or perhaps training,” the king waves his hand flippantly. “It’s a shame as he is the most musically skilled of any of us but alas… I suppose he’s tired of dealing with the subpar options that have already been presented to us.”

 

“As he should be,” grunts Prince Thrain, looking unamused and bored.

 

Gandalf simply grumbles, and Bilbo shuffles his feet.

 

“Well, go on, lad.”

 

“Uhm… I’m sorry, your highness, uhm,” Bilbo bows again as the king addresses him, for good measure really. Cover all his bases. “What?”

 

“Sing, lad, get to it,” says the Prince, already looking bored.

 

Bilbo’s face gets red, and he’s insulted for a moment before Gandalf grunts and the hobbit remembers whose company he’s in. 

 

“Oh! Oh, well yes of course, uhm… well, heh. A cappella I suppose…” Bilbo waits for any of the band members to say something behind him, but no one so much as coughs.

 

Right , he thinks.  Well… here we go.

 

*--*

 

There’s a figure standing at a far doorway, past the royals table. A broad-shouldered figure with long, dark hair and eyes blue, but he’s tired and mildly annoyed so he decides to wait there till the halfling is done. And if he must suffer the singing as he waits, so be it.

 

He’s resigned to it and unhappy, closing his eyes and crossing his arms.

 

Then, as the hobbit begins to sing, low and slow, he frowns.

 

It’s the most beautiful voice Thorin has ever heard.

 

*--*

 

Bilbo takes a deep breathe and begins, tapping his foot to a beat only in his head. He starts low, drawing out the notes so they play in a powerful yet delicate way.

_ “When you move _

_ I can recall somethin' that's gone from me... _

_ When you move _

_ Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free...” _

Bilbo closes his eyes as he crescendos his voice, reciting the parts of the chorus easiest to frame into an a capella rendition. 

_ “So move me, baby _

_ Shake like the bough of a willow tree, _

_ You do it naturally, _

_ Move me, baby..." _

He opens his eyes as the beat in his head gets a little bit louder, and he climbs the notes like a ladder. He watches as a figure moves slowely out of a doorway farther down the hall, a bit too far away to tell any distince features besides a built frame, long hair, and an aristocratic face. A face expressionless, even as the king and Prince of Erebor look at Bilbo agape. 

Bilbo takes this blank stare from a stranger as a challenge, which he knows is silly. But he knows he’s good. Great, even. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t show it.

_ “Ooh, ooh, ooh _

_ Oh baby, oh baby..." _

He’s drawing it out, playing over pitch and notes with all the skill he’s honed. The stranger finally steps close enough for Bilbo to properly see the dwarfs face. He almost gasps at the handsomeness of it, and the last lines of the song are sung just for the dark haired dwarf before him.

_ Move like grey skies _

_ Move like a bird of paradise _

_ Move like an odd sight come out at night...” _

Bilbo ends and gasps a bit, blinking. That was more… well, more everything than he had first meant to put into what should have been a simple audition.

But it must be well-recieved, as Gandalf guffaws and begins to clap, as the musicians behind them whoop and join in the applause. Even the King and Prince smile and clap a bit.

He smiles. But Bilbo's eyes stay on the stranger beyond, as a slow, endearing grin spreads upon the handsome face. Goodness, the hobbit thinks. What have I done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from Hozier's latest song, "Movement."
> 
> I made up a word for "court singer" using the germanic word for singer (sanger) and the probably-almost-certain word for court in Khuzdul.
> 
> Martin Freeman does have some tracks on Spotify in which he sings for an elf animated film he was once in. It is, adorable, and I can't think of any other artist to describe how I think Bilbo sounds. I just work with lyrics *shrugs*


End file.
